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“Eloise is a snob.”

The fish wasn’t even my idea.

Three years ago my father had shown up at my door carrying an absurdly expensive pink glass aquarium.

Inside was a tiny white almost transparent fish.

“You need a companion, my heart,” he’d declared.

I should have flushed the thing as soon as he left.

Instead, I made the mistake of feeding it once.

Now Eloise lives in a custom pink tank larger than some apartments and the fish has preferences.

Actual preferences.

She refuses certain foods and throws dramatic tantrums when her tank decorations are rearranged.

She’s insufferable.

A tiny old-money heiress trapped inside a fish’s body.

Hence the name.

Eloise.

Mother smiles knowingly.

“You love that fish.”

“I absolutely do not.”

"You bought her a castle."

“The aquarium looked empty.”

Mom leans back and gives me a look.

The look.

The one that usually ends with me agreeing to something against my better judgment.

I immediately become suspicious.

“You’re behaving strangely.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve asked about my happiness.”

I put a finger up.

“My pest fish.”

“You mean pet.”

“Pest.”